


The First Moving Picture Show

by Parhelion



Category: Fire's Stone - Tanya Huff
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon, Yuletide 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/pseuds/Parhelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sword is not always the best tool for rooting up conspiracy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Moving Picture Show

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Katharos.

Maybe it was because the spice merchant had believed himself to be alone that he gasped when Aaron stepped out from behind the bed hangings. More likely, Aaron thought, the man had a guilty conscience. His kind usually did.

"You-- Lord Aaron."

Clan high-born or not, Aaron's title still sounded strange to him. But he'd worked hard to become one of the great thieves of his day and could claim that he'd stolen his current position fair and square. Aaron nodded once to accept the respect that he'd earned. Then he smiled. He'd seen during past meetings with mirrors that his blank grey eyes made his smile far from reassuring. Good.

The merchant's embroidered, sea-silk chamber-robes testified to his professional skills. He should have been able to resist filling silence with information. But he was not at his best, confronted by Lord Aaron, Prince Darvish's dagger, with oak doors locked between them and the merchant's household guards. "I meant to send you word, Honorable Lord. There are rumors everywhere about the attack in the Cattle Market this day."

Aaron hoisted one eyebrow.

"The people are angry, ready to riot. They all love His Highness."

True: Dar had a knack for making himself appealing, as Aaron himself well knew. So no new information there.

"Some say the assassins were agents of the Ytaili King."

The Ytaili were the enemies both of Dar's home country and of this land, Dar's country-by-treaty-marriage. Indubitable, Lord Aaron's rhetoric tutor would call the news. Aaron would settle for useless. He yawned.

"Others claim that a jealous spouse hired the assassins. They offer interesting names."

There should be no recent candidates as far as Aaron knew, and Dar wasn't one to lie to Aaron about his personal affairs. Aaron said, tone idle, "Tax audits can also be interesting."

The merchant's words sped up. "There are many other rumors, of course. Many, many rumors. Some speak of the Most Wise Lady Chandra--" Seeing, just in time, the wall that he was galloping towards, the merchant swerved, "But that is nonsense, as all should realize. Certainly a Wizard of the Nine would have other ways to make her displeasure with her husband known?"

Chandra informed Dar of her wifely displeasure with words, as needed. Under Dar's and Aaron's joint and sometimes unintended tutoring, many of those words had grown more pungent in the last two years. But they remained less than lethal. Aaron studied the merchant's neck and waited.

"Of course," the merchant's voice was weak as he answered his own question, "of course she does." He was silent for a moment. "There is Lord Kesin."

Now, at last, Aaron was interested. "Tell me about Kesin."

*****

 

"Does it hurt when I do this?"

"Given that I always wince, why do you healers all ask the same question?" Darvish had long wondered, and this little, balding fellow looked like the person to ask.

"Because wincing provides no details, Highness. Even my patient's swearing at me is far more indicative of the degree of his pain."

Fadi, Darvish's younger dresser, suppressed what was probably a snicker. Over these last two years, the beautiful boy had blossomed into a striking youth. He was still too young for a playmate, though, even if Darvish wasn't otherwise occupied. However he was almost old enough for a serious talk and then some challenging post far away from Darvish's bedchamber, at least until the lad's infatuation faded. If it ever did.

Oham, Darvish's older dresser, on the other hand, remained blessedly close to ugly. He also remained blessedly calm and proficient. Just now, he was holding a bowl of pine-scented water in which the healer was rinsing his hands. The healer said, "Well, no excessive redness, and I sniff no evil humors around my stitchings. Keep drinking the infusions I left with your men here, and we'll see how you continue to go on. No need to summon the Most Wise Lady back from retreat to apply her gifts just yet."

Darvish could only be grateful. When she found out about this little affair, his wife Chandra would tear a strip off of his right buttock to match the one already missing on his left buttock, courtesy of his companion Aaron. True, it had been stupid to get separated by even a few paces from his armed escort. But who expected a fight in the middle of the city's cattle pens? Trampling, maybe, but the cows had appeared no more upset by his inspection than the crowd had been. Even the capitol's future roasts had seemingly enjoyed the farce of Darvish circling plump, bovine haunches, stepping over cow pats, and avoiding swishing tails while checking for subtly altered brands, all in the service of judging a smuggling case in the Market Court. Of such small amusements was popular affection born.

The healer had taken the bandages from Fadi and redressed the wounds. "There. No exercise for at least three more days." He raised his eyebrows. "At least, none where your arm has to flex while supporting your weight."

This time Fadi's face stayed serene. Oham was wearing the particular, placid expression that meant he was suppressing a sigh. Darvish couldn't resist. "Lord Aaron will be pleased by the chance to display his ingenuity."

"I'm glad that I'll be pleased by something." The familiar low voice came from over by the closed windows. Those windows opened out onto a balcony several stories up the Palace's supposedly sheer facade. The healer started, Fadi grinned, and Oham's lips stretched almost imperceptibly.

For his part, Darvish donned his most brilliant and dazzling leer. "I live only to please you."

"Don't let Chandra hear that."

"Very well, I admit you and a few, select others." Darvish cleaned up his smile before he nodded dismissal to the healer. The man bowed and departed, escorted by Fadi, who would pass along the usual packet of coins in the corridor, where such a coarse transaction - offensive to both professional and noble dignity - could be properly ignored.

Aaron waited until the healer left, and then glanced at Oham, who nodded. That meant there were no other intruders; knowing Oham, the man had sensed the exact moment Aaron entered the bedchamber, but not felt it his place to mention the arrival. Then Oham also went off, no doubt to brew some disgusting tisane.

Darvish leaned in towards Aaron's slight, graceful form for a quick embrace. As usual, Aaron stayed stiff for an almost unnoticeable interval before he relaxed to return the kiss. There was something oddly charming in a companion who always had to be wooed.

As Darvish could have predicted, Aaron broke away and frowned. Before Aaron could speak, Darvish asked, "Well?"

Aaron only blinked. One winged, ginger brow rose, though.

"What did you find out?"

"Nothing solid enough to lay before Lord Balin."

"So there is something at hand that needs my Father-in-Law's attention?"

"You won't be surprised to hear that Kesin's name came up during my research." Aaron's voice was dry.

"Dear Cousin Kesin," Darvish said, and "Nine bugger him. But not via me." He supposed this mess was to be expected. Kesin remained heir to Chandra and Chandra's father, Lord Balin, until she produced children of her own. And with all of Kesin's own offspring around to remind him of what he had to lose if Darvish did what prince-consorts do- "If Kesin's spawn weren't all such brats, this wouldn't be a problem."

Aaron lifted a shoulder and dropped it again.

"Yes, I know we agreed that we'd inevitably pick out the one Kesin liked least to raise up for our heir. And I won't even broach the possibility of Chandra changing her mind about her requirements as a Wizard so that she'll bed with me."

"She might."

"Not if I try to get around her. At least I've learned that much in the past two years." Darvish was sure his grin was rueful. Not that his failure was entirely his fault. If he was gauging her reactions right, and Nine knew he had the experience to tell, Chandra wasn't afraid of his bed, or even of bearing his child. No, there was some other problem buried deep. He vaguely wished he could have a drink.

"Tell her about this."

Suddenly restless, Darvish got up and went over to the windows, the sky showing through them dark blue as twilight fell. Below him, all along the slopes descending towards the harbor's indigo half circle, lights flickered as lamps were lit in the brightly painted houses of the capitol. Here and there brighter glows showed where families and friends were enjoying their evening meals together on the capitol's flat rooftops, sheltered beneath their angled canopies from the sea-breeze. If he opened the windows, Darvish imagined that he'd be able to hear faint sounds of laughter and lyres playing. It really was a lovely little city, one growing dearer to him than he'd ever have predicted. As were its citizens. "I don't want her changing her mind just because of this kind of nonsense."

The silence behind him still spoke.

"I don't care if I'm being foolish."

That earned him a snort.

"Her old tutor in wizardry was kind enough to reassure me. Chandra's studies progress in leaps and bounds. Soon there'll be nothing about bedplay that should be able to fog her wizardly focus. She'll see reason."

"She's stubborn."

"So are you. All right, she and I will have another head-on fight about the matter. I hope you're satisfied." Darvish turned and held out an arm in a calculated, graceful gesture. He had a feeling, though, that the smile on his face was rather more pleading than he had intended. But that was the price a dissipate paid for falling in love: sincerity. "In the meanwhile, though, I could use some consolation for my woes."

"You usually can." But Aaron was also smiling, his grey eyes alight, and he reached out to grasp Darvish's hand as he spoke.

*****

 

"Wizards of the Nine do not dither," Chandra pointed out to the horizon.

"Then you've conjured up a wonderful simulacrum of it, these past few weeks."

Chandra suppressed a sigh. She'd long ago made a resolution to stop saying "Wizards of the Nine do this," and "Wizards of the Nine don't do that." But it was harder to keep her vow when she thought she was alone. Here, atop the tower that overlooked the rolling hills of her country estate, she'd let herself slip. Trust the Nine and One that she'd be caught by someone who could call her on it. Of course.

Rejeet, Wizard of the First, stood studying Chandra with a sardonic expression. She was a hand's measure taller than Chandra and always wore her wizard's robes with a military neatness that made Chandra conscious that her own elegance was entirely the result of her dresser Barmak's ongoing struggles. But Chandra had also grown into her looks. Feeling intimidated by good grooming was stupid.

Chandra squared her shoulders. Rejeet smiled dourly before she said, "My visit has been a wonderful excuse for you to do nothing but socialize, confer, study, and socialize some more at this retreat of yours. What are you going to do now that I'm leaving?"

"More of the same." Chandra had learned a few things about verbal parries in the last two years. Being married to Dar was very educational.

Rejeet's nostrils flared. "You're putting off your decisions."

"I don't want a baby." There, that had sounded direct and firm.

"Really? You seemed quite taken with Barmak's first child all the times that the poor man presented the infant for your approval."

"He would have fainted if I so much as frowned. He's been like that ever since I inherited him from Darvish."

"True."

"Besides, whenever she started to cry, her mother took her away."

"Also true. You, of course, would have to depend on your old nurse and her many assistants for the same task."

"Babies are still distracting." Chandra snorted. "It would be very hard to keep to my researches and meditations if I had a baby."

"Yes."

Chandra rolled her eyes.

"As a wizard, you've reached the point where you need a lengthy battle." Rejeet's hand fell to touch the haft of the dagger sheathed at her waist. "It's time to decide whether the strength of your focus will arise from never letting yourself be long distracted or from your ability to eventually overcome any distraction." She smiled again, but it wasn't soothing. "Babies, as you note, are distracting. So is the getting of them."

She also no longer became visibly sullen, Chandra reminded herself. "I'll think about your advice."

"Please do."

The atmosphere at dinner that night was frosty, which was a pity. But Rejeet wasn't one to yield up a tactical advantage merely for the sake of comfort or custom. Aba, Chandra's old nurse, looked from one to the other of them and then produced a babbling stream of gossip from the capitol, courtesy of the mounted escort which had arrived that afternoon to conduct Rejeet to her brother's ship. Chandra ignored all of it in favor of the spiced rice with apricots and tamarind sauce. At least she ignored it all until Aba said, "--spiked the heads of those nasty men with swords who attacked Prince Darvish."

Suddenly intent, Chandra asked, "Attacked?"

"What was that, Poppet?" Aba's hearing was a bit weak these days, at least when she wanted it to be.

"You said something about Darvish?"

"Oh?" One plump, age-spotted hand fluttered to Aba's throat, but her eyes were keen. "I'm sure I didn't mean to presume."

That was Aba's way of telling Chandra she'd not been paying attention when she should have been. But some news was worth a reprimand. "Darvish was attacked?"

"By a squad of villains, right there amidst those lowing cows. Who would have thought it? However, he killed two of the ruffians all by himself before his escort and the crowd took care of the rest." Aba huffed in satisfaction, and ladled some rice atop the lamb on her piece of flatbread.

Dar hadn't written a thing about this in the letters that had arrived with the horsemen. Chandra's eyes narrowed. He probably didn't want her worrying. Aaron had more sense, but his personal messengers, not bearing the chancellery seal, wouldn't arrive until sometime tomorrow.

Rejeet's harsh voice said, "Armed robbers in the Royal Cattle Market. How unusual. And how distracting."

Chandra looked up at Rejeet, wondering if her own nostrils were flared. "Yes. Very."

"If you'd like, I can consult with the Troop Master on the best way to divide his forces into two units."

"Please do."

II

 

So she couldn't say it. She could still think it.

Wizards of the Nine did not disintegrate Ytaili player-troupes, even ones that had the misfortune to break down in a narrow pass right where it would block said wizard's baggage cart. And they also didn't trample their horses through bickering tangles of jongleurs, acrobats, mummers, and the Third only knew who else, merely because they were in a hurry.

Instead, Chandra asked the Sergeant leading her escort, "Can you help them?"

The Sergeant looked as startled as if she'd proposed that he escort her to a brothel in the Fifth Above's quarter. He obviously hadn't been assigned to Dar yet. Biting back her impatience, she elaborated, "Can you help them fix that wagon?"

"Well, Most Wise Lady," the Sergeant scratched the bridge of his nose just below his cap-helm, which seemed to stimulate his thoughts, "It's a matter of getting that caravan's wheel replaced. They have the spare wheel, all right. They're just arguing over the best way to prop up that wagon so they can get to its axle."

When it came to making a simple task hard, players were as bad as courtiers. This could go on all day. There was sweat trickling down between her shoulderblades, and her hair felt like it was coming undone from its travel braid underneath her hat. Chandra said, "Sound 'fall out to fill in slit trenches.'"

This time the Sergeant's bemused reaction might have been either at her requesting that particular trumpet sequence or at her knowing about unit signals at all. Neither mattered. The closer to battle, the shorter the signal. In a reversal of the same logic, 'fall out to fill in slit trenches" was lengthy and full of ruffles and flourishes composed to emphasize that the musician was over here, cradling the coil of a signal trumpet, and not over there, picking up a shovel. Even the entertainers were impressed enough to fall silent, if only because the brazen noise overrode the fine point of their debate.

Chandra worked her horse forward, and pointed over the heads of the troupe towards the one man who'd resisted joining the argument in favor of sitting cross-legged in the patch of shade thrown by one of the remaining caravans. "You." She added, "If you please." He'd better please.

The fellow was wearing one of the hooded shirts favored for travel in the hills, where shelter from the sun was more important than fashion. He stood up and walked towards her at a graceful pace that nicely compromised between dignity and speed. A mummer, Chandra would bet. He came to stand by her stirrup just out of kicking range of her foot, and bowed deeply. "Most Honored Lady."

The voice seemed vaguely familiar, probably because of his Ytaili accent. Chandra said, "I can lift the wagon."

"Your escort? A thousand, thousand thanks, Gracious--"

"No, I can." She was already plucking a feather from the fringe around her hat to use as an aid to concentration. Even patience had practical limits, and it was hot out here, given how the canyon walls blocked the inshore breeze. "Have your people move out of the way, please."

Startled, his head came up, and his features were no longer shadowed by his hood. Then, quickly, he turned away and called out to his fellows in some player's jargon. His face had also seemed familiar, but Chandra had no time for chasing down memories right now. Even small amounts of magical energy could be dangerous if not channeled exactly so. She was more interested in the fact that he was ordering the others away as she'd requested.

Fortunately, the broken-down caravan was closer to what it was meant to be when it was level and had four wheels, so this spell wasn't pushing against the current heavenly arrangement that favored order-as-intended. Overhead, the Nine Above danced through the stars, hidden by the sun's glare, but the One Below still spoke with them to determine the patterns of magic. The faint lines of power she saw within the caravan, probably from all the multicolored luck charms painted along its sides, would be of use, too. Chandra drew strength, shaped it into her spell, poured it out through the feather towards the caravan, and spoke softly to pull her lines of control taut.

The caravan rose with a loud creak to stand level, one wheel broken, as if it was ready to roll down the road. After a moment of impressed silence, the troupe surged forward, now shouting at each other again, to lever off the remains of the damaged wheel and to slide the spare wheel into place. They'd knock in the pins well enough for the new wheel to hold, Chandra knew, and then have it properly reset and aligned at the next settlement large enough to have a wheelwright. That next settlement would probably be the capitol. And her attention was drifting: she focused on holding her spell.

She sensed, rather than saw, the mummer return from organizing his fellows. Instead of speaking, he hummed an Ytaili worktune. The man wasn't much of a singer, but his voice was pleasant and the worktune seemed to make concentration easier, as it was meant to do. One would think that he'd met wizards before, if one had time to do so.

Faster than she would have predicted, the troupe was done. This time without speaking, Chandra gestured. She knew the little crease that Aba warned her against when she strained was showing between her eyes. The mummer called out again and the players sprang away from the repaired caravan as if it was an estate foreman offering them seasonal labor harvesting olives. Chandra released her magical grip, there was a thud and a creak, and the caravan stood ready to be hitched back to its horses. The mummer bowed deeply before he turned away to rejoin his comrades.

"Wait," said Chandra. "I know you."

He paused and looked up at her. His expression was flirtatiously innocent, appropriate to a handsome man accosted, but it did him no good. If anything, the way he batted his long eyelashes helped firm her memory.

Chandra felt her eyes narrow. "Don't bother. I remember now where I saw you."

He visibly considered and then sighed. He was probably thinking that she was a wizard and quite capable of fishing for the information that she wanted without asking his permission. Not that she would. "I was afraid that you'd remember me, Most Wise."

Back when Chandra, Aaron, and Darvish had traveled to Ytaili's capitol as unsure wizard, bleak thief, and drunkard prince, all in a desperate bid to retrieve a stolen artifact of great power, this man had been sitting behind a dirty tavern table in a dirtier part of the city. Dar, a wastrel himself, had known to seek out another royal wastrel forced into a life of useless self-indulgence when he needed information about the Ytaili palace. But this man no longer looked like a wastrel lord, only a rogue entertainer. "I don't think that I ever learned your name."

"I am called Hamdian, Most Wise."

"Hamdian" sounded an awful lot like a word that meant "traveler" in the Ytaili dialect. Chandra still hadn't learned his name, she'd wager.

He continued blithely, "I did learn your name, Most Wise Lady Chandra. My, um, Uncle mentioned it frequently during his many long rants to his - assistants - about how he'd been wronged by you and your two companions. It sounded wonderfully exotic, and I impressed it upon my memory." Slowly, the former Lord smiled again. Given both his blue-black curls and his dimples, the effect was charming, but Chandra had been cozened by the best. She raised her eyebrows and waited.

After a hopeful pause, Hamdian shrugged and continued. "Anyhow, I seemed to irritate Uncle even more after your visit than before. He told me that a long sea voyage would be soothing. For him."

"I see."

"Yes, well. I'd anticipated a trip on a merchant vessel, not a navy ship, and certainly not on a navy ship as an, er, working member of the crew." He meant as some sort of naval officer. "Still, it was something to do."

"Why aren't you at sea right now?" Oddly, she couldn't imagine him deserting. Perhaps it was his strong resemblance to Dar, who was only difficult until principles were at stake.

"I've often asked myself that same question. But then there was this ship's boat, you see, and me waking up inside it in the middle of the ocean. Oh, and the boat leaked."

"Not a lot, it seems."

"Part of the caulking had been removed from one of the seams. At least I'd learned about that sort of thing in the preceding months. My coat helped a little. It helped for long enough, that is, for me to drift into a shipping lane."

Obviously Hamdian hadn't had the courtesy to drown himself by falling off his ship while drunk, and someone had decided to help the perils of the sea do their job. Chandra wondered who'd tried to kill him in such a complex fashion. Why not just stick a dagger between his ribs some moonless night and slide him over the side rails? One would almost think that whoever commissioned the deed was a person with reason to avoid the Fourth Above's curse on kin murderers, someone like, say, a very close relative.

"Again, I see."

"Yes." Now his smile was wry. "So, when I was picked up by the sort of merchant ship that I'd have rather sailed with in the first place, I thought 'Heyo, heyo, me for a life of adventure in foreign climes.' At least, that's what I thought when I'd recovered from the sunstroke. Wasn't it lucky that this band of great artists was traveling on my new ship, en route to spreading Ytaili culture abroad?" He swept an arm around in a grand gesture.

Of course the rest of the troupe had drawn near to eavesdrop shamelessly, undeterred by Chandra's armed horsemen when gossip might be at stake. One of the motley-clad acrobats snorted and said, "Just then we were so desperate for a painter to fix the moving picture that we'd have hired a Priest of the Fourth, if he could wield a brush."

Moving picture? Never mind. What mattered was that Chandra had a rogue member of the Ytaili royal house on her hands. Such eventualities had not been covered yet during her lessons in politics. She should do something, she knew. But she wasn't sure what.

She had a fallback, though. Aaron would know what to do, or Dar would know, and they would advise her so that she would know, too. True, this sort of thing shouldn't happen to a Wizard of the Nine, but Chandra was as much the heir to her father as a wizard. She couldn't let leftover royals from hostile nations run around her countryside while assassins were at hand.

Well, that was probably what she couldn't do. What she could do, though, was to finish her trip to the capitol while making sure that Hamdian came with her. That much, at least, was clear. Thank the Nine Above that some decision was.

*****

 

"You can't have him for a pet, Darvish. He's a royal." Even the recently stylish, almost-elegant, Chandra still did eye-rolling well, Aaron noted. Using Dar's full name was a nice touch, too.

"Not a pet. I'm merely impressed that he's managed to change so much. It gives me hope."

Chandra considered him, eyes narrowed. "You don't need someone else's hope. You've done fine all by yourself."

Dar bowed gracefully. "Ah, but I had Aaron's help, and yours." He raised his right hand to show the plain, iron band that he always wore on his fifth finger, bad for his sword-grip or no. "Not to mention, my nameday gift."

Chandra had created the ring the first year she and Dar were married. It had cost her a lot of weary nights and a few minor explosions, but the ring did its job. Dar, who'd had wine-sickness before he'd broken those chains during their quest to Ytaili, now found that everything alcoholic smelled like stinkweed. Or over-boiled squid stew with long-dead fish chunks. Or a peasant's privy at the end of the Harvest Festival. He said that the ring helped, and Aaron believed him.

Mollified, Chandra settled back into her usual chair in Dar's parlor-chamber with only a token snort.

Diplomacy having been served, Aaron decided it was time to get them back onto the subject at hand. "I doubt Hamdian had anything to do with the assassins. The timing's wrong. Although my agents are double-checking."

Now it was his turn to get an eye-roll from Chandra. Dar settled for a small smile. The friendly amusement in his blue eyes was more devastating than all his deliberately seductive smolders. Aaron narrowed his own eyes at them both and said, "None of this settles what we're going to do with him."

"I won't keep him as a pet. I'll send him and his troupe to my sister-in-law, the Most Blessed Yasimina, and let her keep him as a pet." Dar spread the fingers on both hands wide. "After all, he's her nephew, too. She's still a touch homesick even after her brother tried to sacrifice her during his little political gambit two years ago. 'Hamdian' can consol her while my brother's men watch him. The troupe will keep him occupied and give her a hobby. And perhaps Ytaili players will start a new fashion back ho-- back in Ischia. They will, at least, be a change from all those court poets."

Chandra frowned, obviously thinking hard, and absently reached for the single chestnut braid that she no longer wore to chew on its end. Aaron turned over the notion himself. The Fire's Stone, the magical artifact that he, Dar, and Chandra had stolen back from Ytaili, had been crafted by nine Wizards of the Nine to keep Ischia's active volcano in check. Princess Yasimina wasn't a fool. She'd been in Ischia while the gem was in Ytaili, well aware that she, too, was in the path of the rising lava. When they'd confirmed her royal brother's involvement in the Stone's theft, she hadn't been pleased. Ever since then, her letters to her royal brother could have been used to preserve the ices for a year of guildhall banquets. She'd enjoy the chance to spite him by protecting her nephew. Aaron said, "That'll do."

"I think so, too." Chandra nodded briskly. Then she glared at Dar. "Not that you've said anything about the real problem."

Determination flattered Chandra's looks. Glaring made the flecks of gold in her eyes catch the light. More important, Aaron thought, she was right. "True, Dar, assassins are a real problem."

A swordsman like Dar knew better than to try beating back both of their attacks at once. Instead he chose distraction. "I wish I knew why it's taken two years for Ytaili to seek revenge."

Chandra turned to Aaron. "It's certain they were Ytaili-hired?"

He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. "I'd wager."

Satisfied, she said, "Then something's changed in the political scene, something that makes the King think he has more to gain by killing you than he's had before now."

Dar's expression, to one who knew him, hinted at wariness. Aaron kept his own face still. With a person as strong as Chandra, the best tactic was to use her own strengths against her. She'd figure matters out.

She did. She flushed red, closed her eyes, and started mouthing something that Aaron would bet was a wizard's formula meant to help control her temper. Dar glanced around, probably checking quickly for valued breakables and then, seemingly satisfied, returned his attention to Chandra.

Chandra pushed the words out from between gritted teeth. "I will not be rushed into having a baby."

Neither man said anything in reply. Neither was that stupid.

"Can you prove that my brainless lout of a cousin was involved?"

"Not well enough to make a case before your father," Aaron said. "He'd need a solid case. He wants to get rid of Kesin as much as you do, so he'll be especially picky about the quality of our evidence."

Chandra's snort mixed annoyance and pride. Dar said, "Not to mention, neither of us thinks that Kesin was actually responsible for the assassins. Not enough nerve."

"That's true enough," Chandra muttered.

Ignoring her, Dar shook his head. "No, all we can prove is that he's getting a lot of messages from Ytaili, along with some very luxurious gifts. Ytaili doesn't need for him to be directly involved, only to understand to whom he owes the favor. And, perhaps, to be a little afraid that what's happened once can happen twice."

"Huh." Chandra considered. "Afraid. Maybe that's the answer. Maybe if he was frightened enough, Kesin would start returning his messages and gifts unopened."

Aaron reminded her, "I've spoken with him in the past."

"He's too stupid to be afraid of you, Aaron." Chandra shook her head in evident amazement, and Aaron found that he was vaguely flattered. "No, Kesin only worries about what the so-called people who matter think. That's why he was never much afraid of me, since I don't care about that nonsense." Right, even if she was getting better at court politics. "He's very afraid of Dar's upbringing and diplomatic skills, though. Especially since Dar doesn't throw up on anyone's best court shoes anymore."

Dar's voice was wry. "So, if Aaron and you don't terrify him, and he thinks someone will get rid of me, what do you recommend that might make him fear?"

"I don't know." Chandra shrugged. "Threatening public exposure in front of his peers?"

"We don't have enough evide--" Aaron stopped. Dar's chin had gone up, and his sudden grin was truly evil. "You have an idea."

"Oh, yes I do. The best skirmish tactics build on available resources. So draw near, children, and listen to Uncle Darvish spin you a plot."

When he was in this mood, there was little to do but let him run. Resigned and a little intrigued, Aaron drew up the chair next to Chandra's and sat down to listen.

*****

 

"Ah, Kesin. What a pleasant surprise." The problem didn't lie in Kesin's being fat, Darvish decided. No, it was the faint aura of grease that almost justified Chandra's rudeness about her cousin. Even given his wariness at being accosted by Darvish after this High Council meeting, Kesin's smile still had an oily tinge. "You've heard that Chandra is back from the country?"

"Yes. Has she returned for her nameday celebrations this eightday on?"

"How perceptive of you. Not that I'd expect anything less." Darvish beamed.

Kesin shook out his blue silk sleeves and almost preened. "You flatter me, Highness."

Why, yes he did. Darvish continued, keeping his tone blithe, "In any case, I'm only playing messenger. We're having a little gathering right after Chandra reviews the Capitol Militia tomorrow. Will you, your lovely wife, and your charming children be free to join us? Everyone will be there."

Caution visibly vied with Kesin's greed to lord it over his peers, and greed won. After all, to Kesin's way of thinking, Darvish had no reason to be suspicious. As always, the man underestimated Aaron's skills. Kesin said, "Of course we'll come. Will there be a theme for the evening's garb?"

"Artistic. We will be artistic."

Kesin's eyes seemed to light up. "Lalet will be so pleased." Lalet, Darvish remembered, was Kesin's six-year-old child, the one who was frequently pressed into service at court receptions to recite epics. She tended to deliver the verses in a well-paced monotone while working one arm as if she was tugging at a bell-pull.

After hearing a great deal he didn't want to about Kesin's offspring - they were, as always, giving evidence of being the most talented children ever seen in court circles - Darvish managed to free himself and find a few allies to invite to Chandra's sudden party amidst the usual compliment of drones. Not surprisingly, the practiced flattery of those he didn't like made him wish for a drink. There was no special urgency to his usual craving, though, and he confined himself to requesting a pomegranate juice over crushed ice.

It was his dresser Fadi, wearing the garb of a court attendant, who brought the drink to him. He gave the youth a smile and palmed the note as he accepted his goblet. Then Darvish drifted off behind some potted palms to discover what Aaron needed so urgently to tell him.

_Dar:_

_I made a mistake. Chandra's gone off. I'm following._

The handwriting was vile, as it should be since the note was written by a man who had only been literate for a year. There was no signature, only a few more sentences that looked significant and were: they contained code phrases to let him know that Aaron had actually written the note. Not that Aaron would put more than the most necessary information onto starch paper. He still viewed writing with a touch of suspicion.

Darvish cocked his head to one side and considered before he dissolved the note in what was left of his pomegranate juice. Then he poured out the adulterated juice onto the root bulb of a palm tree in its glazed pot. When plots were at hand, extra caution was wise. Then, with an elaborately casual care that would be widely noted and mostly taken for his keeping a less-than-romantic rendezvous, he wandered towards the double doors that would let him out of the pavilion.

He wasn't surprised to find Oham in the spice garden, critically examining a leaf on a cassiel shrub clipped into the shape of a stylized flame. "They need a colder climate to truly thrive," Darvish pointed out.

"It is a pity. Without a touch of frost this one won't bloom, and the flowers are beautiful."

Darvish found that he was flattered by this rare proffering of a personal opinion. He smiled at Oham and asked, "Eavesdroppers?"

"Not unless they're wizards, Highness, and I still have the privacy Amulet that the Most Wise Lady gave me."

"Good." Darvish puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath of air. "Now, what have they been arguing about this time?" He could guess. Aaron must have tried tackling Chandra about what he felt was ultimately needed to end the current danger. And conversations about sex weren't exactly Aaron's strong point.

Oham gave him a look of mild reproach. "I'm sure I couldn't say, Highness." And if he could, he wouldn't. "But the Most Wise left with some haste."

"Aaron started arguing in monosyllables again, and Chandra got into a huff," Darvish translated with ease. "Did she give any clue as to where she'd be going?" It would be the most annoying possible destination just this side of reasonable, so she'd stay in the city. She knew they had the gathering to worry about tomorrow.

"I believe the Most Wise said something about checking that the players knew exactly what they should be doing."

Darvish shook his head, knowing that he was grinning wryly. The Fifth Above's quarters at night. Not that such trouble as Chandra could find there would be enough to overwhelm a Wizard of the Nine, much less the watchers that Aaron likely had following her, but she certainly had a gift for irritation. Although Aaron had probably provoked her. He felt his smile fade. It was not like Aaron to misplace his common sense this way. And Chandra wasn't doing well either. His friends - Bugger the Nine, his beloved and his best friend - were having problems.

He didn't want them to have problems. No, he really, truly, didn't. "Oham, do I still have that commoner's garb I wore to Lady Menesi's al fresco luncheon?"

Oham indicated a carved, wooden bench set to one side of the topiaried shrubs. "I took the liberty of bringing that outfit with me, Highness. And four of your men await you by the water-gate."

III

 

Maybe he shouldn't have told her she was being stupid. Chandra wasn't stupid, only determined and, every once in a while, confused. Maybe he shouldn't have tried telling her how good Dar was at bedplay, either. She knew that. Details weren't needed. Aaron wasn't sure why he'd opened his mouth and provided them.

He could still wish, though, that she hadn't gone running off to see Master So-called Hamdian. Not that he'd turned up anything against the man, but, with one major exception, Aaron didn't trust dissipates. They were trouble, and could be very hard to resist. On the brighter side, there was always the chance that Hamdian would push Chandra too hard, and she'd either turn him puce for a day or make his hair fall out until he rubbed raw eggs onto his scalp.

Aaron supposed that he and Chandra must be good friends. She'd never even given him a wart, even after talks like this evening's when she must have been tempted. But that didn't matter right now.

He should be concentrating on the rooftops of the capitol. They were largely flat and often built right next to each other in the laborers' districts, which took some of the challenge out of climbing his way across the city. But the poorer residents also knew that their local thieves liked heights. Aaron had to keep his eyes open both for tethered dogs and those big, obnoxious, barking lizards that everyone kept around to eat bugs. Either sort of creature made enough noise to rouse its household and all the neighbors, too.

Still, he'd made his way to the edge of the Fifth Above's quarters with no problems that dosed meat couldn't solve, even if he'd needed to take a few detours that had considerably lengthened his travel time. Aaron had to get out more.

On a rooftop next to Brewer's Lane, Aaron paused. All the taverns of this district kept late hours. So did the licensed courtesans. Their guilds had banded together to install oil lamps on top of iron pillars throughout their district, a new idea that Aaron the thief didn't like. Lord Aaron, Prince Darvish's Dagger, approved, but he wasn't the one who had to find Chandra. The arrival of his official self would break their informal deal: she ignored Aaron's agents following her if they weren't obvious. Aaron knew that she'd view the respectable Lord Aaron as obvious.

Aaron pulled up the hood on the traveler's shirt he was wearing. It made him look rustic but neither poor nor a target. Everyone wore such shirts while traveling in the warmer, inland districts, even country household guards. And rustic types always seemed to head for the Fifth Above's quarters while in the capitol, so he wouldn't stand out.

His agent's reports had given him the name of the inn at which the troupe was staying. The Date-heavy Palm was seedy enough to accept players. But it was still clean and free of bugs, which meant that the room charges were high. The Ytaili troupe must be doing well.

Inside, the inn was packed. He took a moment to scan the common room. The place actually had a tiny stage, probably for the gleemen, jongleurs, rhetors, and poets who made up a large share of its customers. However the owner, no fool, had reclaimed his lost floor space by building a balcony around three of the walls and cramming tables onto it. Those were some of the best seats in the house if you didn't mind the risk of cracking your head on the roof's crossbeams when you stood up. Aaron himself would have sat with his back to the wall at one of the tables half under the balcony and next to the fireplace, as Chandra was sitting.

She didn't seem to notice him, not surprising in this mob. Someone had clearly just finished performing and was off having the drinks that he'd earned at the bar. Everyone else seemed to have realized that they were thirsty, too, including most of the Ytaili players. Aaron slipped through the fringe of the crowd and over to the foot of the balcony stairs.

By the time Aaron managed to work his way around the tightly packed balcony to where he could overhear the conversation at Chandra's table below, he'd barely avoided having his feet stepped on three times, wine spilled on him twice, and his pocket picked once. Either that, or one of the patrons had funny ideas of how to proposition a stranger. But Aaron kept his patience and managed at last to prop one elbow against the wooden railing above Chandra's table and lounge there with his face partially averted, being careful not to block the light from the hanging lantern and so cast a shadow on the two people below him.

Chandra was saying, her tone gloomy, "--not really beautiful."

"No," Hamdian's tone was judicious. He seemed to be drawing a picture of her in chalk on a piece of reed-paper. Chandra's head came up and Aaron would have bet that her eyes flashed dangerously. "Would you rather that I lie, Most Wise?"

Chandra's next sentence was a mumble, but Aaron was sure it was some version of "I don't want you to lie, no."

"Is being beautiful truly important to you? It's not as if royals get to use looks as a basis for choice. Not with their spouses, at least."

"No. I don't know." Chandra was back to studying the table. "Dar likes beauty."

"He also, by all accounts, likes breathing and body-heat. Those two qualities seem to be his minimum requirements for flirtation. So, no matter how he views your appearance - which is actually quite appealing - I'm sure that he'll never ignore you for long."

"For your information, Dar doesn't ignore me that way at all. Which is one way that I know he's my friend." Apparently hearing her own, blurted-out words, Chandra scowled, obvious even at a distance. Her chin went up.

Hamdian didn't laugh at her, which was wise. Instead he looked mildly startled and then pursed his lips. "Yes, it does sound like you are his friend."

"Friends matter."

"Yes, they do."

"Aaron's my friend, too."

"Mmm." Hamdian put down his red chalk and picked up a piece of white.

"I like them both very much."

"Like. I see." Hamdian shaded something on his drawing. His tone had been dubious. "I'm not sure that 'like' is the word I would choose." Chandra bristled at him, and Aaron felt his lips thin. Whatever Hamdian was implying--

Hamdian said, "Now, would you mind closing your mouth and not scowling for a minute or two? After all, we've both agreed that you owe me something in return for my involuntary diversion to Ischia and the arms of my loving Aunt, not to mention all our hard work for tomorrow. I have hopes for this sketch."

Aaron was amazed when Chandra did as she'd been asked without complaint. He hadn't expected Chandra to let Hamdian's comments go by. The former Lord was charming, almost as charming as Dar. Aaron wasn't sure he liked that. It made him feel--

In his mind, a memory from the past finished his sentence for him. _Jealous. You feel jealous, boy._

He did. The feeling was strange. Annoying. Unmistakable.

Below him, Chandra had decided that she'd been still long enough. Taking a deep breath, she asked Hamdian, "What do you think of babies?"

Too bad that Aaron never got to hear what Hamdian's response to that question would have been. Instead, he sensed a small shift in the noise of the crowd. He glanced towards the common room door, and saw that Dar had come in. Aaron narrowed his eyes in exasperation. Assassins were abroad, and Dar had left his armed escort somewhere that Aaron hoped was right outside. At least he'd bothered with a disguise this time. It was a decent disguise, too, of the sort that changed Dar into someone who looked a lot like Prince Darvish but seemingly wasn't him. Even from the balcony, Aaron could tell how the patrons examined Dar, wondered if he was the Prince, decided that he wasn't, and went back to their own businesses. Oham must have helped Dar with his make-up.

Chandra looked up. She was smart enough not to call out Dar's name, but after a moment she waved. Somehow spotting the gesture amid the chaos, Dar waved back and started working through the crowd.

"Nine rot it," said Hamdian in a tone of mild irritation and put his chalk back down.

Dar made it to the table and pulled out an empty chair. He sat, and smiled. "Hamdian."

"Hello." Hamdian raised a hand and flapped it in unenthusiastic greeting.

"Chandra."

"Dar," Chandra said, sounding resigned.

"Aaron." The word was a little louder. Somehow Aaron wasn't surprised that Dar was looking up in his direction.

"Is that Aaron?" Chandra's resignation turned to indignation. "I thought it was one of his men. Their shielding amulets are all my work." She looked up at him. "You've been swapping them around again. I wish you wouldn't."

Aaron could work his way back across the balcony, down the stairs, and out across the main floor. Or he could be practical. It was the work of a moment to swing over the balcony railing and drop onto an empty chair below. Perhaps landing on a chair rather than on the table was showing off, but in this particular tavern no one even seemed to notice.

"Have you ever considered a third career as an acrobat?" Hamdian asked him.

"No," Aaron replied. "Dar, where is your escort?"

"Guarding the lamppost outside. It was being threatened by street urchins. Unlike me. I'm only in peril from this tavern." Dar wasn't entirely joking.

"I suppose you've come to get me." Chandra sniffed. "I was attending to business."

Not entirely, but Aaron had already said too much for one evening.

Dar had the sense to take her words at face value. "Good. I've invited all the guests. Is everything ready at this end?"

"Yes," Chandra said grudgingly.

"Yes," Hamdian agreed. "And I've been informed of our next tour date, as well. Is Ischia all that they say?"

"If not more," Dar assured him.

"Wonderful. And I've finished my sketch of the Most Wise, as well."

"Really?" Dar asked. "May I see?"

Without a word, Hamdian tilted the reedpaper so that Dar could examine the sketch. Dar gave him the respect of a long, silent study before he said, "Excellent, even if I do prefer the original."

Chandra muttered something inaudible, and then said clearly, each word enunciated, "I'm all done."

"We should be going," Aaron found himself saying at the same time. Taken by surprise, they both glanced at each other and then away.

"You're always doing this to me, Honored Patrons," Hamdian said on a note of mild complaint. "Sweeping into my life, acting charming, getting what you want, and then sweeping away again leaving me alone with my sketches." He lowered his lashes. "I'm so jealous."

Aaron gave him a startled glance. Hamdian was jealous? Of what?

Dar seemed to know. He grinned and said, "Don't be. You have plenty of time to find your own - good company - now."

"Now that I have something to do with myself, and people to do it with."

"Yes, now that you have something to do." The two of them exchanged a cryptic look.

"Well. Yasimina always was the nicest of my aunts. Your brother is lucky to have gotten her. He could have been shipped Darling Highness Auntie Terifea, who views gossip as a form of warfare, complete with sapping and mines."

They all shuddered.

His complaint put on the record, Hamdian said, "If you'll excuse me, I need to talk to Master and Mistress Tanwer, who are actually in charge of this troupe. Not, mind you, that I think they'll object to the prospect of a long run in Ischia. But I'm not anticipating enjoying my explanation of why we're being awarded this opportunity, either." After carefully rolling up his reed-paper and putting his chalk away, he pushed back his small bench, got up, and bowed deeply. Then he left, returning the shouted greetings from his fellow players over the heads of the crowd.

"That was different," Chandra said thoughtfully. "He certainly must feel better."

"Proper work will do that," Darvish said. Then he ran a hand over his face and asked, "Can we now return home and get some sleep, you two?" Dar obviously meant to sound a mock pathetic note, but there was a real chord of appeal in his voice. "After all, we have a busy day tomorrow." Aaron glanced at Chandra and she barely nodded. Whatever Aaron's problem was with Chandra, it would keep. At least matters hadn't gotten to the point where they weren't talking with each other. Or weren't nodding at each other, to be more precise.

In any case, it was time to go. Taverns, filled with boisterous fellowship and drinking, were hard on Dar.

Later that evening, Dar asked him, "Are you two still arguing?"

"Delayed on account of business."

"Ah," said Dar. "I'll move the breakables during the interval."

For some reason, snorting at Dar while in his bed always seemed to have the same result. Laughing, Dar bore him down amidst the pillows.

But it wasn't a bad end to a hard day.

*****

 

"And this is my third daughter and my youngest child." Kesin's voice wasn't improved by doting. It merely added the sand of self-satisfaction to his grease. "Although a mere infant, she is yet a prodigy. All her tutors comment upon the pure and dulcet tones of her voice."

The prodigy appeared to be about three years away from her cradle, Darvish noted. Should she be allowed to stay awake this late? The prodigy also stared up at him with the same distrustful regard that Darvish was directing towards her. Recalled to himself, he said, "Charming."

Kesin beamed. "Yes. We thought that none would wish to deprive such a talent of an early experience with Ytaili culture."

Darvish was somehow sure that the other noble guests hadn't been consulted.

"Kesin!" The shrill summons came from Kesin's wife. She wasn't especially irritated by her husband right now, which might have made her tone understandable. No, she always sounded this way. "I need you to speak with Lady Ushamati!"

"Excuse me, Highness," Kesin said and oiled away, followed by his five offspring. The eldest, supposedly diagnosed as a military genius, took the chance to kick Darvish in passing. For all that the brat had a good sense of timing, Darvish honestly didn't think that Kesin's eldest would survive his drill sergeant long enough to become the general his parents intended him to be.

Well, at least he hadn't lied to Kesin about this gathering. Looking around, Darvish could see that all the notables of the small court were present with the exception of Lord Balin himself. Chandra had hinted to her father that he might want to be busy this evening, and he'd been kind enough to take her meaning. If anything did go wrong, Lord Balin would be safely ensconced in a temple holt across the capitol, playing cross-squares with the city's High Priest of the Sixth.

Aaron came up to Darvish, a goblet of watered wine cradled in his hand. It smelled faintly of chicken droppings. As usual, Aaron was more elegant, and had greater presence, than most of the pure-bloods around him. Darvish smiled, and Aaron lifted a corner of his mouth in return before he said, "The players are ready."

"So is Chandra." Darvish tilted his head towards the best and highest bench, where Chandra was ensconced amidst silken cushions, supposedly talking with her old nurse about Aba's slow wagon journey to the capitol. In fact, Chandra was preparing herself for what would be a tricky piece of wizardly weaving. Two of the guests here were also wizards, if not Wizards of the Nine. Chandra was vastly more powerful than they were, but if she got clumsy, they'd still sense her at work, shaping power.

Aaron nodded once and went to take Darvish's assigned seat on Chandra's other side. His presence would be enough to deter most of the more persistent court hangers-on from bothering Chandra when she needed to be concentrating. Darvish was amused to see Aba lean across Chandra to pat Aaron's arm in greeting, just as if he was a favored nursling. For some reason, Aaron was entirely unable to intimidate old ladies.

With an inner sigh, Darvish turned away and went to circulate among the guests. He'd rather sit with his friends and quietly chew his nails - or have a drink - but that wasn't where his duty lay. His job was to make sure that Kesin ended up where they wanted him, not too difficult a task since the well-cushioned bench to which Darvish steered the man was obviously the best one left available. Kesin and his family were placed on the bleacher row just below Chandra's. Getting the amazing offspring to settle down and play at silence was much more difficult than corralling Kesin, but that task, too, he accomplished. To crown his achievements, Darvish finished with his duties and swapped seats with Aaron, settling into his proper place next to Chandra precisely as the entertainment began. Sometimes he even impressed himself.

The players' show was announced by the traditional flourish of jongleur's flutes, but that was where any resemblance to the kind of entertainments Darvish knew ended. He'd heard about how the masked Ytaili mummers spoke their own poetry, unlike the mummers of his own country who acted out poems recited for them by a rhetor. But he'd never seen how the Ytaili style worked. Hearing the prologue's lines spoken by the same people who mimed them was oddly compelling. Soon Darvish was ignoring the strangeness of the new style in favor of its vividness.

As they had arranged, the poem being performed was the Epic of Mahalah Kin-slayer, which described how that northern outlander betrayed his brother and Clan Chief only to be murdered by a nephew in his turn. Kesin apparently knew the classic epic well; he stirred at the first line before a sharp pinch from his wife made him settle down again.

"If you would know now this, a country's fate, which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, oh watch!" the mummer, who was reciting the last of the prologue, concluded. He grasped the edge of the long reed curtain hung close to the audience and walked it across the pavilion to reveal a bare floor. Black-clad acrobats would soon dance a miniature bridge across it for Mahalah to brood upon, shake bolts of fabric into a blue-cloth river in which the heroine could drown her dishonor, and tumble-fight with two-handed wooden swords in front of the bare, rear wall, all to illustrate the epic verses as the mummers enacted them.

There was a small murmur from the audience. The floor was as bare as usual. But the pavilion's back wall wasn't blank. Instead a tall strip of canvas stretched in front of it from wall to wall, painted with a wonderful depiction of what must be the clan-fortress of Amittai. On both ends, the painted canvas was wrapped around rollers. As the first mummer stalked out onto the floor, the rollers began, very slowly, to rotate. The picture moved.

If he'd had the time, Darvish would have been even more amazed than he was. He dearly wanted a chance to enjoy the combined effects of the reciting mummers, the props-bearing acrobats, and the beautifully painted pictures shifting from setting to setting in pace with the epic cantos. But he was too busy waiting for Mahalah's entrance to indulge himself.

When Mahalah came through the double doors into the pavilion, Kesin visibly twitched. Darvish made sure that his gaze was directed towards the players when Kesin turned around. The man did make enough noise, though, that Darvish felt justified in raising his eyebrows in mild inquiry. Out of the corner of his eye he could barely tell that Chandra was rolling her eyes. Perfect.

Kesin turned back around, but his shoulders were tense. He managed to endure two more cantos without reacting again until the couplet when Mahalah recited, "Oh, my offence is foul and stinks to heaven; it bears the Judgment of the Fourth upon it." Then he hissed a question into his wife's ear. She turned to give him a look that, even at a distance, Darvish would wager, scorched. Her spoken reply was almost audible, and was seemingly enough to stir up the amazing offspring.

Darvish slid his gaze sideways briefly to check Chandra. Her expression was serene but her fingers, down in her lap, were twisting and untwisting around a piece of string that Darvish knew came from a mummer's mask. She was spending a lot of precisely controlled strength to make sure that Kesin, and only Kesin, saw his own face depicted by the mask of the player reciting Mahalah.

Still, Kesin kept calmer than Darvish would have predicted. He did stare about again, ignoring the mutterings of his children, examining the expressions of the rest of the audience. When it was his turn to be checked, Darvish showed Kesin mild exasperation and nothing else. Aaron, as usual, was stone-faced. Chandra was apparently paying strict attention to the mummer reciting the lines about Hiram, shield-brother to Young Amittai the Avenger, a mummer who Darvish would bet was Hamdian behind the mask. In northern garb, he had nice legs.

It was the entrance of Cain, the Clan Lord who ended the epic by conquering and sacking Mahalah's keep, that finished off Kesin. For him, Cain's mask bore the visage of the King of Ytaili. Darvish had argued that this touch was layering on the olive paste a bit thick. Chandra had retorted that nothing was too obvious for Kesin, and, besides, they had someone available who could make sure that the Ytaili King's royal visage was accurate. Seemingly, Chandra had been correct.

Kesin let out a loud noise that could only be described as a half-strangled gobble. His wife and children looked at him. The rest of the audience looked at him. Even the masks of the mummers turned momentarily in his direction before they turned back to continue the performance. Everyone else in the audience then looked determinedly away, back at the player's floor, in the kind of mass refusal to acknowledge an embarrassing presence that only a court could muster. Kesin, however, twisted right around to stare up at Chandra, Aaron, and Darvish.

This time Darvish didn't need his peripheral vision to know what Kesin was seeing. Aaron's face would be blank and his eyes as cold as northern death. Chandra would be scowling and her eyes would be hot as the coals of the Fourth's Judgment. Darvish could feel that he was smiling sweetly. He had no idea of what his eyes would look like. His own gaze met Kesin's, and Kesin turned abruptly back around to watch the moving pictures. He stayed that way until the end of the performance.

Afterwards, the courtiers divided themselves up between hurrying into the player's area to examine the paintings on their rollers, chatting up the players themselves, and clotting into small clumps of vociferous critics arguing the fine points of the performance. But, without a word being said, his fellow courtiers all avoided Kesin as if he had the violet fever.

Kesin's wife was not pleased. As their children ran about, tripping, being tripped, and having to be restrained from climbing the rollers supporting the moving pictures, she asked her husband, "What, pray tell, was that about?"

Darvish missed the next bit. Chandra was saying to Aaron, "I hope all the tragic northern epic poetry didn't rake up bad memories."

Aaron snorted. "Tragic? That poem was comic by the standards of my birth-clan, complete with a happy ending."

"You didn't notice? Truly? Any resemblance at all?" Kesin almost babbled out his questions to his lady.

Apparently his lady wife had had enough. "Don't. Be. Absurd. _What_ are you going on about? Are you _quite_ out of your head?" With each sentence, the volume of her words rose until she was audible throughout the entire pavilion.

Kesin's oldest child, who was just about to be slapped by Aba for jumping up and down on the uppermost bleacher, paused to tell the youngest child who was following him, "Father's running mad." With true relish, the boy added, "That means we shall all be murdered in our beds with a big ax. Chopped to pieces, like Old Chief Amittai." The infant prodigy's eyes got wide and round, which was followed quickly by her mouth doing the same thing. The resulting pure and dulcet wail could probably be heard down by the harbor.

Kesin had to be helped from the room with one of his attendants waving his wife's vinegar pomade under his nose, and another fanning him vigorously with a borrowed hat. His wife and children followed after him, their castigations and complaints drowning out Kesin's continued, faint protests.

Chandra looked after her cousin, obviously weary, but just as obviously triumphant. "That's that, I think."

"For now, at least," Aaron added cautiously.

Waving an impatient, slightly trembling hand at this, Chandra asked, "Did you see that moving painting? It was breathtaking. They must thread together their stock panels with grooved wooden dowels into an order appropriate for each play, but there's a subtle spell on all the pieces that hides the joins and merges the scenes together in the audience's minds."

Darvish shook his head. "Hamdian truly is an artist who's found his medium. I'm not surprised that he was drinking back in Ytaili. They'd never have let him work at such a plebian occupation as scene-painting. "

"Yes, he's very good." Chandra said, briskly. Then, tone glowing, she asked, "But did you notice the charm work stylus-engraved along the lower borders of the canvas panels? It was amazing. So subtle that I barely detected the magic flowing around that caravan the troupe stores their pictures in, the one that broke down on the road. I've never seen or read about anything quite like this spell. I need a closer look." Her expression turned speculative. "I wonder if I could also get a sample of the moving pictures to study?"

"I'd bet every wizard in Ytaili also wanted a sample to study," Aaron said dryly.

Darvish nodded. "And this troupe had no noble protector. No wonder they left Ytaili for more rustic, and less wizard-populated, shores."

"Oh," said Chandra, brought up short. "Yes, of course."

"Hard to present a new type of Ytaili performance when your big novelty's been sliced up into tiny slivers by hordes of ravening magical fans." There was a hint of a smile around the corners of Aaron's lips.

"You don't have to rub it in." Chandra didn't huff the words out, but she'd obviously made an effort not to let her irritation show. "Very well. I'll look but not touch. Just one more quick peek at the patterns of the spell." Chandra's eyes narrowed, and a small line appeared between her eyebrows as she mustered her wizardly power again. Somehow Darvish wasn't surprised when she turned cotton-white and crumpled into a faint. Neither was Aaron. They both caught her as she fell.

*****

 

"You know, the court gossips will claim you're pregnant after that faint of yours," Dar told Chandra.

Aaron hoisted his eyebrows. "Just so long as they don't report that she's exhausted from terrorizing Kesin."

"Not all that exhausted. Your healer's a pessimist, Dar. I know how to hold a focus these days." Chandra rolled her eyes at them both. The healer had already departed after checking her pulse, tongue, and palm print, leaving behind him a set of foul-tasting infusions and a recommendation for strict bed rest. Chandra had just awoken from taking her first dose of rest in Dar's bed. As he'd pointed out, she could either camp here, or be nursed by Aba and face volleys of questions and commentary. She'd chosen here.

Sitting up, Chandra crossed her legs and gathered her hair, meaning to braid it and get it out of her way.

"I'm always amazed that you can braid it yourself." Only another highborn, raised amidst clouds of servants, would know why Dar sounded genuinely impressed. Aaron, for his part, went to pour himself a glass of citrus-and-water at the sideboard.

"The skill was so useful while we traveled in Ytaili that I kept in practice," Chandra said. Feeling strangely shy, she added, "I admit, it usually comes out crooked."

"Do you need some help?" Dar sat down next to her. "I am, as always, willing to volunteer."

Chandra was out of the bed with a speed that amazed her. Then, embarrassed, she turned to look at him.

He'd sprawled against a pillow. "So bad?" His tone was neutral. Only experience told Chandra that his feelings had been abraded.

"So good." Her eyes widened. There were problems with being blunt by nature, including the way her mouth made discoveries before her brain did.

"Ah," said Dar thoughtfully. "I see."

"I don't," said Aaron, who'd abandoned his goblet. "And I've asked you this before, Chandra. If Dar's appealing, and you've learned to hold your focus, what's the problem?"

Chandra said nothing. Dar said, "I think Chandra's worried about the risk. The risk to our friendships in changing things around, not in bedplay with me."

"That isn't my entire problem," Chandra said.

Hard on her heels, Aaron said, "It's not as if I'll be jealous." He paused and looked as if he'd swallowed some detail. Then, perhaps in search of something distracting to say, he pointed out, "You could put the baby off until later. Dar has this way of using his mouth--"

Chandra had already heard entirely enough second-hand descriptions of Dar's bedchamber skills, and she suddenly knew how to make Aaron stop sharing more. She marched over to him. "You keep saying how wonderful sex is." She poked him in the chest with a forefinger. "But you're not the one who's a virgin. If sex is supposed to be so wonderful, prove it yourself."

For once, Aaron was visibly nonplussed. Dar, on the other hand, lay back amidst the pillows and roared with laughter. Exasperated with them both, Chandra grabbed the neckline of Aaron's shirt with her hands and pulled his lips down to her own.

It was awkward. Aaron smelled of long-brewed chaffi. He was stiff as a board, if warm, and his strong hands clutched her upper arms as if he thought she'd fall over when he let go, or possibly explode. Kissing him wasn't seductive at all. He made nothing like Dar's effort. In fact, Aaron's lips were still and dry, and Chandra was the one using a few tricks she'd learned from Dar, if only to get her point across. A moment or two more and she could let go.

Aaron made up his mind first. And he'd had a lot more tutoring from Dar than Chandra had. It was a great deal longer than a moment or two more before he let go and took several quick steps back. Chandra wondered if she looked as shocked as he did. Probably more so: Aaron was the expressionless one. Neither of them spoke. It was Dar who said softly, "Well done, you two." At that, Chandra rubbed a knuckle across her lips and scowled. Aaron scowled right back at her. "I think you've identified the rest of the problem," Dar continued.

Did he mean-- Yes, of course he did. Oh. She'd never exactly thought Aaron was ugly, but this was getting horribly complex.

"All right, I admit it. I don't want everything changing around," Chandra blurted out. "It was hard enough sorting things out in the first place."

"I--" said Aaron, before he closed his mouth, folded his arms, and scowled some more. Men. If they didn't have something easy to say, they never said anything at all.

"Look," Darvish said, his tone maddeningly reasonable, "I'm hardly in a position to criticize. Do you really think that I'm going to complain when my best friend and my best beloved look upon each other with warm regard?" For a moment his grin was unmistakably lewd, but then it gentled into something harder to resist. "No, I'm certainly not planning on complaining. I might make thanks offerings to the Nine Above and One Below, perhaps."

Aaron ran a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "I can't." He raised both hands in the air. "Three isn't." Then, realizing what he was doing, he clenched his hands together behind his back. "No."

Dar looked interested. "I'm not quite sure how your attraction to Chandra is any more shocking than what you've already accepted, what with your outlander taboos, the man-loving, and my heartfelt devotion." Aaron's eyes narrowed almost to slits. He, too, hated it when Dar got this reasonable. Dar blithely continued, "And it's not as if she can't choose who'll be siring her child."

"If anyone sires my child," Chandra muttered, which was not wise.

Dar turned his attention to her. "In that regard, I wouldn't mind even if you preferred my beloved over me, such is my degeneracy. But, if I'm not mistaken, part of the reason that you find yourself in this quandary is because my past efforts to coax you into bedding have born abundant fruit, so to speak." He mock-smoldered at her. "I'm eager for the harvest, dear-heart, I assure you."

Chandra realized she was flushing. "Oh, Dar," she said. "Honestly!" To the Fourth with elegant maturity. She flounced back over to the bed and plopped herself down next to Dar. He was hogging all the pillows. Stealing one back from him, she frowned at Aaron, who was still imitating an especially stoic and anguished tent pole. "And you're as bad as he is. You don't have to do anything. I'm the one who has to do something."

"Has to?" Dar asked softly.

"Wants to." She sighed. "Has to as well. This idiocy with Ytaili needs to stop, and you're both right that my having a baby will help. And they are appealing. Babies, I mean. Bearing one wouldn't be so bad if I thought that I knew what I was doing."

"You can't foul it up any worse than Kesin has," Aaron said. He'd found his voice at last. Having retrieved his goblet, he came over to sit on the foot of the bed, probably so that he could keep his voice down.

"You'll have help." Dar gestured to himself and Aaron. "We'll both help."

"You'd better," Chandra said. She considered. "Although there's nothing you can do about the really hard part. I wonder if there are some tomes in the royal library discussing that?"

"Oh, I think I can help out a _great deal_ with the really hard part," Dar said.

Aaron snorted, and Chandra shot Dar an outraged look before she caught the friendly laughter in his eyes. She tried not to laugh, she truly did. But, as usual, she ended up wondering why she'd bothered.

When they'd quieted a bit Dar leaned forward, grabbed her slippered foot, and gently shook it. "Very well, then. May I take it that you're finally offering to launch yourself into the deeper waters of matrimony?"

Wizards of the Nine were bold. "Yes." Wizards of the Nine were also cunning. "But I do have one rather difficult demand."

"Oh?" Dar glanced at Aaron, Aaron at Dar. Dar's expression mingled amusement and trepidation. Aaron just looked wary. Men.

"I know what gift I want to celebrate the birth of our heir. And this is a requirement, not an option."

"Ah?" Now Dar was merely confused. Aaron, though, had caught on. His face was still, but his eyes were smiling.

"I want a moving picture of my very own. Did you observe--"

She never did get to finish pointing out the merits of moving pictures. But that was fine. As she'd long suspected, Dar and Aaron knew of other, more interesting things to watch in bed.


End file.
